I’ve made a momentous decision…

Like all momentous decisions, the actual decision itself was only taken after heavy consultation with my good friends Mr Whisky and Mr Not-Bad-Red-For-About-Five-Pounds. The latter friend sets the framework, discusses options, maps out different scenarios. The former (Mr Whisky) is the closer of the group. The decision maker. He shoots. He scores. He can’t help but decide. He cannot - and will not - sit on the fence.

Yesterday, my aforementioned good friends and I, decided that we’d had enough of moustaches. That they were ridiculous and unsuitable. But we went further than that. We were done with facial hair in its entirety.

That is a momentous decision.

For the last four years I’ve been constantly with a beard. See Tim. See facial hair. Close cropped beard. Full beard. Scruffy beard. Tidy beard. Goatee beard. I’ve distrusted clean shavenness. I’m dubious about soft pink skin on my face. To shave is like, so 2004. Or something.

But last night the razor came out. The shaving cream was applied. Bold strokes and nimble blade work swept from ear to ear. The moustache was no more. The last stand of facial hair had been wiped out and sent down the plug hole.

And so I braved the Lake District weather today, naked of face. The slings and arrows of outrageous weather whacked my newly shorn visage as I mounted Cat Bells. Didn’t feel a thing.

So we’re left with; does it suit me? Does the clean shaven look knock years off me? Make me look younger and more vital?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Makes me look fatter though and my bottled friends are agreeing with me on this point right now.

What do you think?

Clean shaven in front of Lodore Falls. Cheeks sucked in. Allegedly.

I've always liked after shaves. I can remember the smell of Givenchy Gentleman back in the 70's. But the first bottle I got all for myself was Old Spice. I still think OS smells all right, to be honest. An older French teenager stayed at my house on a French Exchange in the mid 80's and brought me a present of some Yves Saint Laurent. Smelt of lemons. Which is fine as I like lemons. He liked The Cure.

There have been (brief) Brut moments where Xmas presents have been worn, say, after a hard work-out in the gym. I remember a bottle of Hai Karate hanging around my teenage bedroom. Even then I realised it smelt like shit. I drifted in and out of Boss, CK One, Egoiste; so many, so many, who can count?

For ten years or so I went with Taylors of Old Bond Street's Sandalwood aftershave. It became my signature scent. It's subtle but, with those woody notes, vaguely manly. My last bottle ran out in 2016 and I've been searching since the for a new signature scent.

Recently I've tried two aftershaves at opposite ends of the market. One expensive and worth it and one cheap and yet overpriced.

Tom Ford for Men - Light but persistent, this is damn good. Pricey but worth it. Not especially masculine but I have my metrosexual moments. Probably one to wear on a date to leave a lingering - but not unpleasant - impression. Classy. Expensive. Sounds like me, no?

David Beckham Classic - reduced to £5.50 in Wilkinsons so I thought, why not? I'd just used up the Quorum I got for Xmas, so I had a quick spray in the shop. Spray, spay... Yeah - all right. And it's not an unpleasant smell, and did I say it's £5.50? Why not? Well, I will tell you why not! I spray it on in the ensuite and by the time I leave the bedroom I'm often wondering - "did I put any on?" David Beckham. Tosser. Bet he doesn't wear this crap.

And so concludes Tim's review of Aftershaves. You can literally feel the stock markets tremble as these words are read by a shocked world. And Tom - if there is a Tom, how would I know, you can send me a few free bottles for my plugging of your product. Cheers.

I was going to write - one for the ladies - but that might slur my obvious masculinity.

Goodbye Tash.

Some Thoughts on Aftershave